I’m Missing My Chef Hat


There are two things that I really like. Food, and friends. I also really enjoy cooking for friends. Let me get to the point. I like baking. I love standing in my hell hole of a kitchen in my hell hole of an apartment, wearing an apron and chef hat. I bake. I can bake cookies, and muffins, and cakes, and puddings, and everything a fat kid can imagine. I bake deliciously.  When I bake, I feel like a wizard with a caldron. I throw ingredients all over the place, I sing, I splash, I make a mess… I love it! As much as I love the baking process, I don’t  love to eat my baked goods, but I sure do  love to share them. I share them on Instagram and go #hashtag crazy, and I also share them with friends.

I guess in my weight loss journey, if I bake for everyone, and everyone else around me gets a little more juicy and plump, then I’ll look even better even sooner. Calm down everyone, just a joke! I’m losing weight, while baking! Let’s face it, I can’t eat them. As much as I would like to, I am well aware that if I did,  someone would find me shaking on the floor, with my slow beating heat, and chocolate dripping down my face.

Eating cookies and cakes aren’t for me. I enjoy baking, and I find it extremely relaxing. Everyone around me can enjoy my sugary, buttery treats, and I will enjoy my apple.

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Chocolate Cake, Milk Chocolate Icing,  A Crap Ton of M&M’s all surrounded by 12 Kit Kat Bars

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It’s A Girl Cookies! Sugar Cookies. Sugar, Butter (Margarine), Flour, Love, Food Coloring

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Chocolate Cupcakes, Cream Cheese Icing, Sprinkles, Chocolate Chips. Yum .

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Shortbread Cookies With Chocolate Drizzle… low fat chocolate, doesn’t really make a difference at this point.

A Little Bit Of Honesty


I guess I haven’t really been honest in a while. I sit and talk about how difficult it is to lose weight, and how the scale hasn’t moved in a while. I also blast people for accusing me of “taking the easy way out” and to be honest, I’ve been using the surgery as the easy way out for the last little while. At the beginning the pounds would just come shedding off, and then I got used to it. The more used to it I got, the less motivation I had to work out, and eat right. Sounds shocking, I know.I guess I’d figured, like most people who know nothing about the surgery, that I didn’t need to eat right or go to the gym.

 

I stopped posting my monthly weight loss because I’m embarrassed. I stopped posting in general because I haven’t really done anything inspiring or amazing in the last little while. If I’m not honest with myself, then the weight won’t come off! So here’s this weeks honesty:

– I used to do Crossfit once a week. My excuse that I don’t go more is because it’s too expensive. Truth is, I can easily get a membership to Crossfit. If I subtract two monthly meals at restaurants, that pays for the membership

– I hardly go to the gym anymore. I have the membership. My excuse was that I had my puppy, Genius to go home and take care of, however, now that Ronnie Ginger adopted him back from me, I can go to the gym as much as I want whenever I want.

– I eat all day. Grazing is the biggest problem for me. I need something to do that stimulates me. Instead of eating snacks, and nibbling on my fingers, I need to come up with a new activity to keep me from grazing all day. I’m not hungry, I do it out of pure boredom.

From this point on, I will be completely brutally honest. I know that I can lose the last 40 pounds. It’s up to me to get past my stupid excuses and move on from them. Excuses are what made me fat, and what will keep me fat.

My Constant Battle


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Obviously with weight loss surgery, comes struggles and battles. Battles such as, losing weight in general, learning to love yourself, making the right choices, not going to restaurants etc. Right now, my biggest battle is dealing with that dreadful question that every person asks me. Showing off my weight loss, and broadcasting it for the world to see, I am clearly asking for questions, and remarks etc, but sometimes, that one question just brings me down.

“How many pounds are you down?”. Why does everyone care about the number of pounds? To be honest, the number of pounds lost, is the least important part of the whole journey. We’re trained to think that the number lost is the most important part of a persons weight loss journey.  If you want to ask important questions, and receive positive replies from me, or anyone losing weight for that matter, you can ask questions like: “do you feel good about yourself?” , “are you happy?” , “do you notice a difference?”, other questions and comments about how great I look and how beautiful I am are really appreciated as well. While my weight loss number may not have changed in the last month, my pant size has decreased, and my confidence level has increased. The scale is an evil tool that really only helps in bringing you down. Why should we care about the number? What’s so important about it? If I’m getting on the scale, and notice that I’ve lost two pounds, I’m going to treat myself, because I’ve lost. Had I not known about this little two pound weight loss, I would have continued on my merry little way and not treat myself to any treats. I’ve gone from the morbidly obese category, to just plain obese. That is HUGE! That’s an accomplishment in itself.

I personally feel that whenever someone asks me how many pounds I lost, I get discouraged. In my mind I think, “only xxx pounds lost in 6 months?, that’s terrible, you could have done so much better”. But I know that when I look at pictures, and when I see myself in the mirror, it’s more than just the number. Muscle weighs more than fat, and if I’m going to the gym 4+ times a week, obviously my weight loss will be less than a person who wouldn’t be working out.

Maybe some people don’t know, maybe it doesn’t bother anyone, but personally I think that this “number” is really an unimportant part of the whole process. I am proud to say that I am happy where I am. I am proud with how far I’ve come, and I’m proud to say that I’ve met my goals. I may be taking my time, but at least I can proudly say that I haven’t gained a single pound in six months!

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6 months post op. Side shot.

Blame


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What I have learned these last few months, is that nothing comes easy. That, and if I lie to myself, things will only backfire and turn out worse for me than they were at the beginning. It’s very easy to blame others for your wrongdoings. It’s easy for me to wake up and say I’m fat, I hate myself, so and so did this to me. Nothing will ever change until I actually, really admit that I am my own problem. My entire life, I’ve been blaming others for my faults. I blamed my mom for not giving me enough attention, I blamed my “father” for not being around, which caused me great psychological pain, I blamed teachers for making fun of me and calling me stupid, and blamed kids for everything else that was wrong with me.

My mom, the one who I always fought with, the one who I told ruined my life, the one that I said I hated time and time again, now turns out to be my best friend. She may still give me those motherly looks sometimes, but I know, deep down, aside from all those stupid faces and comments she may give, she appreciates me for me, and sees me for what I really am; for that child model I should have been years ago. All jokes aside, she’s one of few who have pushed me to keep going, and who truly believes I can do this. What can I blame her for? Being honest? Telling me I was fat? She was just pointing out the truth. It’s not like I didn’t see it. Maybe she wasn’t saying it in the nicest way, but she did not cause me to be fat. Her words did not put the food in my mouth. My own greasy McDonalds fingers did.

“Father”, left when I was two. No idea who he is. He calls me to tell me he loves me and misses me regularly, but to be honest, I don’t really know him. While some people may be quick to diagnose me with “Daddy Issues”, I think I’m stronger than that. I had a mom who was a father to me as well. I didn’t have a dad to buy me a car, or to run to when my mom was mean to me. Doesn’t mean the lack of his presence is the reason I’m fat.  I think being the child of a single mother makes me stronger, and makes me learn from my strong mother. That man who calls himself my father, in the end- really did absolutely nothing for me. Didn’t teach me anything, didn’t teach me values in life. I guess if he didn’t have the power to do anything for me, how could he have had the power to make me fat? In my eyes, he was powerless- therefore, can’t blame him either.

Teachers and peers were not nice in school. While I was always tall for my age, I knew I stood out. I started to get bigger when I was younger, and while stealing lunch from little kids, I guess that’s when I start to balloon. I did it to myself. I asked to be called Hillary Germs, and I asked the teachers not to like me. Teachers really didn’t like me because I was awkwardly tall, and had to stand next to them in school pictures. I was a really cute kid, and probably took the attention off them which made them really upset and not want to like me. Just a thought. I stole snacks from kids lunches, I didn’t participate in activities because I was lazy.

It’s time I stop blaming others, and just beat this disease once and for all. Feeling sorry for myself won’t make me lose weight. Looking in the mirror, and telling myself that I am fat won’t make the weight fall off. I could have turned this all around and said my mom, absent father, teachers and bullies were the reason why I am fat. No one sat me down and forced cheeseburgers down my throat, no one told me I had to take snacks from kids. No one told me I had to closet eat. No one told me I had to sneak to a fast food chain at 2:00 am.

I did it to me. I have no one to blame but me. Now that I have accepted this, I know that I can do this weight loss journey. While I have stalled, a stall is not my reason for failure, a stall should be a reminder for me to wake the f!@ up and get back on track.

I Could Have Been Honey Moo Moo


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When I was a child, I was the most beautiful thing in the world. I sometimes wonder why my mom didn’t put me in beauty pageants like Honey Boo Boo Child, or just put me in modeling? Maybe I would have stayed thin, if I was a model. People always told her that I was beautiful; not just a pretty face. Mama, why didn’t you listen to nice strangers?

Sometimes I think what life would have been like had I been born skinny and not developed a weight problem. Pretty boring if you ask me. At least now I have a story to tell, and I can laugh at myself without getting depressed about it. I guess being fat was kind of like, my story, and it taught me a lot. It taught me not to eat after nine, it taught me how to stand up to bullies, and it taught me how to love me for me. I guess in a way I appreciate where I came from and how much I’ve accomplished.

Part of me can still wish I would have been in modeling though. I would have loved to dress in expensive clothing and drive around in a convertible all year and live in California. Until then, I will continue on dressing in Wal-Mart brand clothing (not really, but y’noh) and drive around on the metro around the city.

I Got A Divorce


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I love chocolate. I love chocolate plain, on bread, on pizza, on popcorn, on chips, on everything. I will eat any kind of chocolate, anywhere, any time. Chocolate is my addiction. Chocolate is the silent killer. Chocolate is the enemy; Helga’s enemy. Wait, chocolate, is not the enemy. Chocolate is the lover that never lets you down, listens to all your problems, but comes back to bite you in the fat ass when you step on to the scale.

Yesterday, while doing my oh-so healthy grocery shopping, I noticed that the unholiest of chocolates were on sale. You know those chocolates? The ones that are shaped like perfect little eggs, with perfect little candy coating, in that perfectly packaged purple wrapping? The ones that only come out around Easter, and then go half price the day after. MINI EGGS. Mini Eggs. MINI EFFING EGGS. I love mini eggs. Mini eggs are killer. If I could, I would probably marry mini eggs, but that would just be weird, because then I’d eat my lover and be single again. Weh. Anyway, so while I’m doing my grocery shopping, I notice this sinful cart of literally 300 bags of mini eggs staring at me in the face. The worst part about this cart, was the fact that there was a ginormous 50% off sale sticker on the front of it. How could I resist? My favorite chocolate, at 50% off. It was like meant to be. (shut up, Helga). Anyway, there was a small bag, and then the bigger bag with 5x the chocolate in it for 50 cents more. I put the bigger bag in my cart and didn’t think twice. As I approach the cash, I look in my cart, I put the eggs away and say goodbye. Two seconds later, the eggs magically appeared in my cart again. This happened a total of four times, until the hideous Bulky Bernard tapped on my shoulder and says to me in his animalistic voice:” either take them or put them back lady”. I was mortified, and put those bad boys down. The mini eggs and I, we’re through. I just signed the divorce papers.

Celeste and Simone are standing around me now, and we are describing the perfectness of a Cadbury Mini Egg. It’s the crunch, the amount of chocolate, the right amount of candy to chocolate ratio. OK, seriously, shut Helga up, she’s getting in the way of my healthy thoughts.

Anyway, I’m strong, and I can walk away from mini eggs. Be strong people! Eat a normal egg!

Dream, Dream, Dream


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I promised my Mom and Auntie Manny that I would never blog again about making fun of myself. However, this story is a hilarious one. Last night I went to bed at 3:00 am, I had a terrible night and was a grumpy case all night. Anyway, I finally fall asleep, and after watching four too many episodes of RHOBH, and seeing ten thousand commercials for The Keg, I found myself going to bed hungry. I promised myself that the kitchen was the forbidden zone after 8:00 pm. So I stayed in my bed like a proper young lady. Anyway, I had the most INCREDIBLE dream about meat last night. It was like Willy Wonka’s magic land, except with filet mignon, and roast beef, and steak and steak and steak everywhere. It really felt real. So real in fact that I think I started eating my arm by 4:00 am. I wake up this morning at 7:00am to find that I am sleeping in a pool of drool. I have never had a dream that felt so real. It’s sick and funny all at the same time. I’ll chew the meat without swallowing it at this point, I just don’t remember the taste at all.

Someone needs to kick the fat girl out of me. I’m making myself sick!